Outside a small grocery store, leaning against the sunwarmed wall, I found myself entranced by an ad. It wasn’t just the bold reds or the oddly timeless smiles. No, something about it felt… wrong.

The scene was perfect at first glance, a family gathered around a table, pristine plates, fizzy drinks, and joy so picture-perfect it hurt. But the longer I stared, the more unsettling details revealed themselves. The woman’s hand holding the bottle was rigid, almost mechanical. The Coca-Cola glasses were identical, not just similar. Identical, down to the exact angle of the ice cubes, the same reflections in each one.

And those smiles. Not a muscle out of place, yet their eyes seemed distant, hollow, as if whatever joy they once felt had been siphoned out. It struck me then: they weren’t eating. Their forks hovered mid-air, their plates unnervingly untouched. The food was too bright, too artificial, like wax replicas meant to last forever.

A chill crept over me as I imagined this family frozen in time, stuck in an endless dinner where no one actually ate or drank, where the laughter never reached their eyes. It was a grotesque simulation of life, and the more I stared, the more it stared back.

I was about to look away when a shadow flickered at the edge of the frame, just for a second. My heart raced. Was someone… behind the ad? Watching me? No. It couldn’t be. I shook my head, forcing a laugh. Just my imagination.

But as I stepped away, I could swear one of them blinked.